Battle of the Nations
by A-very-supernatural-fan
Summary: The Winchesters go undercover at a Renaissance festival to investigate a strange case of murders. To Sam's dismay and Dean's delight, the best way to blend in is to fight – like men in tights! Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**BATTLE OF THE NATIONS**

**Summary: **_The Winchesters go undercover at a __Renaissance__ festival to investigate a strange case of murders. To Sam's dismay and Dean's delight, the best way to blend in is to fight – like men in tights! __**Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean.**_

**Author's note: **While attending a medieval festival this summer, I watched a Knights' tournament that I originally thought was only a part of the entertainment. Turns out that this tournament, where armored medieval-dressed knights fought each other with shields and swords, is actually a real international sport called 'Battle of the Nations' with championships and everything! This piece of news excited me and, before long, my fingers started itching with the need to write a Supernatural story about this. So here we are. I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it ;) Story will probably consist of two parts.

Additional note: Despite doing some research, I don't know all the specifics about the _Battle of the Nations _sport and have therefore changed and invented a few things along the way. The perks of being a writer ;)

\- Elisa.

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"_Knighthood lies above eternity; it doesn't live off fame, but rather deeds."_

_-_ Dejan Stojanovic, _"__The Sun Watches the Sun__."_

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

"I hate you." Sam muttered to Dean, offered a strained smile to the giggling maiden-dressed girls, they passed by, before he pursed his lips and scowled at his older brother.

"Oh, come on Sam." Dean grinned and winked at the girls. "We already tried the FBI approach and no one was able to tell us anything about the deaths. Hell, some of them wouldn't even talk to us! You know we're not gonna solve this case unless we blend in with the mob."

"I guess." Sam sighed. "I just wish we didn't have to wear this stuff."

"Ah, admit that you are enjoying this just a little bit." Dean said with a smirk. "You can't fool me – I know you have a thing for wearing tights!"

"Very funny." Sam said drily and wished – for not the first time, and probably not the last time, that day – that he hadn't let Dean talk him into this.

Being undercover at a Renaissance festival was one thing – but being undercover at a Renaissance festival dressed in black tights, a forest-green doublet with a belt fastened around the waist, brown leather boots, and a coat (looking more like a cape to Sam) draped around his shoulders, was a total different matter. Despite the absurdity of it though, this wasn't even the first time Sam had been dressed in an outfit like this. While investigating a string of deaths in the LARPing community where they'd run into Charlie, the brothers had also then been dressed up in a similar type of outfit. Back then, though, Sam had let Dean do most of the dressing up while Sam himself had stayed away from the medieval clothing until in the very end where he'd joined in on the live roleplaying to make Dean happy. He would never admit this if anyone asked him about it, but – despite having been out of his comfort zone big time - Sam had actually had fun with it. Mostly because watching his big brother enjoying himself like a little kid on a new playground, filled Sam with a sense of happiness he couldn't quite deny. Dignity be damned.

This time was different though. This was no LARPing community where everyone was dressed up as elves, orcs, warriors and stuff – this was a Renaissance festival where the bigger part of the attending people were actual _guests _and not participants; tourists and families with kids in their normal everyday clothing, which made Sam feel more than a little ridiculous in his dress-up. Sure, there were people dressed as knights and jesters and maidens too but the youngest Winchester was convinced that he would have been looking less suspicious and less out-of-place if he'd just worn his regular jeans, plaid and jacket.

Sam let out a deep sigh and glanced at his grinning big brother. At least Dean hadn't succeeded in getting Sam to put up his hair in a ponytail this time around - he'd had to draw the line somewhere.

"Do you even think they'll accept us into the battle competition?" Sam asked, frowning as a singing troubadour and a couple of joglars blocked their way for a few seconds. "I mean, we would have to join an existing team to be able to freely move around inside the battle camp to investigate, and these people have all been fighting together for years. They won't just let strangers in."

"You're forgetting that these guys are also very competitive." Dean said. "Some of them are dying to be battling in the tournament tomorrow but they might not be able to do it unless they have a full team."

"And some of the teams are missing team members because of the deaths." Sam added with a nod of his head.

"Exactly." Dean agreed. "Which is why there's a good chance that someone will be willing to let us be a part of their team just to be able to participate."

Dean stopped up for a few moments to admire some of the firearm replicas that people had displayed outside one of the many tents that'd been put up for the festival. The older Winchester brother was wearing an outfit very similar to the one Sam was wearing, although the brown leather pants, the grey shirt with the dark-brown gambeson on top, decorated with shiny metal rivets, gave him more of a Robin of Locksley kind of look that suited him better than Sam cared to admit. It was a mystery to Sam how Dean always managed to pull off and wear whatever costume he needed for a hunt with confidence, when Sam felt ridiculous wearing anything out of the ordinary himself.

"I still can't believe that this _Battle of the Nations_ stuff is actually a real sport." Sam said with a shake of his head.

"Sam, even _chess _is a real sport." Dean emphasized with a pointed look. "This one's at least cool."

"You _do_ remember we're not actually gonna be battling in the tournament, right?" Sam asked and dragged Dean away from the weapons tent so they could continue their walk towards the battle arena. "By tomorrow we'll hopefully have the information we need to find out how these people died and how we're gonna stop more deaths from happening."

"I know.. But how cool would it be to say that you'd actually competed in a real knight's tournament though, huh? Huh?" Dean asked, nudging Sam in the side with an elbow.

"Not gonna happen, Dean." Sam said.

"With armory and all!" Dean added with a big, childish grin.

"Let it go, dude." Sam snorted.

**_ SPN _ **

When the brothers arrived by the outdoor arena where the battles took place, a couple of knights were dueling each other with swords and buckler shields – the sandy ground underneath their feet morphing into clouds of dust by every movement of their heavy boots. The sun was emitting enormous heatwaves that made it incredible hot just to be _sitting_ in the sun, so it was no wonder that sweat was practically pouring off the medieval-dressed men as they battled each other in their weighty armors.

"I wish we had popcorn." Dean said as he and Sam sat down on the stand among the other guests - then strained his neck in an attempt to spot a popcorn stall. "Or at least something cool to drink."

Sam ignored his brother's comments - just silently observed the duel between the knights, studying their positions, their movements and the way they attacked each other and defended themselves. He and Dean had stayed up late the previous night to do research about this sport in order to maintain a believable cover, but knowledge was one thing; putting it into practice was a completely different matter. The Winchesters of course knew a whole lot about handling weapons and fighting against opponents, but they didn't have a lot of experience with swords and definitely weren't used to have to stick to certain rules while fighting. If everything went according to plan though, they wouldn't even need to use this knowledge for anything. Still, Sam liked to be prepared just in case things didn't turn out as planned. Besides, back-up plans were pretty much always needed in the hunting business – especially if your last name was Winchester.

A collective hiss went through the crowd of bystanders as one of the knights managed to place a solid hit with his sword to the other knight's helmet, making a fine little dent in the metal and shortly disorientating the guy.

"Ugh, that's got to hurt." Dean remarked over the mix of cheering and booing from the crowd, and Sam nodded in agreement.

"Makes me even happier we're not gonna participate." Sam remarked, grimacing a little in sympathy as he continued to watch the battling men struggle against each other in the burning heat.

A short while later, the battle was called to an end and one of the contestants was announced the winner.

"Hey, check it out." Dean said and gently slapped Sam's shoulder to catch his brother's attention. "Vikings, three o' clock."

Sam looked in the direction Dean had mentioned, and saw a bunch of battle-dressed men leaning against the fence that surrounded the battlefield arena from where they were watching the dueling knights. A lot of battling teams were following the duels but, judging by the crestfallen looks on these particular men's faces, Sam guessed that they probably belonged to one of the teams that had lost team members because of the suspicious deaths.

"What do you say we go check out what they've got to say?" Dean suggested, got up from his seat and headed towards the team of knights with Sam following right behind him.

The brothers stopped up a few steps away from the group of men and leaned against the fence, mimicking the men's postures, while pretending to watch the duel that was about to take place between a new set of medieval-dressed competitors. Instead of paying attention to the battle that was about to unfold though, both Winchester brothers were eavesdropping on the conversation that took place beside them.

"Two more rounds and then it's Alan's turn to compete." One of the men, a young, slender guy with light shaggy hair and no armor, announced while holding up a team banner saying '_The Brotherhood_'.

"What's the point though?" Another man asked, swinging his sword back and forth for a few seconds before planting it firmly in the ground. "Ten vs. Ten is tomorrow and we're not a full team anymore. Bernard left and after what happened to Steve.."

The man hesitated for a few seconds to clear his throat in an obvious attempt to get rid of the emotion that had found its way into his voice – then continued.

"After what happened to Steve, I can't blame him. A lot of us are wondering if we should do the same thing before more people get hurt." The man said, receiving a couple of affirmative nods from some of his fellow teammates. "Some of us have wives and kids to think about too."

"You make it sound like we're competing in a _real_ battle." A third man, a big red-haired dude with a large beard, said and glared at his team mate. "This is a sport – a _team _sport – and we've been training too damn long and hard for this to end before it even started. What happened to Steve was terrible, but he would have wanted us to carry on. Hell, he would have wanted us to win this shit!"

"How can you even think about winning at a time like this?" The other man asked.

"How can you _not _think about winning?" Redbeard fired back. "The national coach will choose his contestants for the national team this month, and we're not gonna impress him by giving up! Steve wouldn't have wanted that!"

While the argument between the team members continued, Dean turned his head to look at his brother and found Sam looking back at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You think we have a chance of getting on their team?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed heavily, brushed a hand through his sweaty hair that was practically dripping because of the heat, and glanced at the arguing men before looking back at Dean.

"I think we need a great deal of persuasion for that to happen." Sam answered and wasn't at all surprised when Dean started smiling confidently.

"Then _I'll_ do the talking." Dean grinned.

"Suit yourself." Sam responded with a shrug of his shoulders. "Just don't go waving a gun in their faces to get us on the team, please."

"Okay, so that happened _one _time and you're never gonna let me forget it?" Dean complained and Sam huffed.

"Dean, you threatened my _gym teacher_ with a gun, telling him you would blow his head off for not letting me in on the basketball team." Sam said. "You're lucky we left town before he reported you to the cops. Or before Dad heard of it."

"Well, he had it coming for what he said about you." Dean stated.

"Dude, he told you I wasn't tall enough to get on the team which happened to be true." Sam said.

"Whatever man." Dean dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Let's just go talk to these fellas."

As the brothers closed the last distance to the Brotherhood team, Sam admired Dean's guts as the older brother, as always, couldn't care less about the fact that the big armor-and-weapon-carrying men, he was interrupting, were in the middle of a private and heated argument. Dean simply walked up to the men (with Sam walking a few steps behind him) and didn't wait for anyone to notice his presence before he cut off the arguing guys with a "Hi, how are you doing? I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam."

The group of men silenced and turned to look at the Winchesters with a mix of surprise and annoyance on their faces from the interruption, and Sam suddenly felt awfully self-conscious in his ridiculous outfit even though the contestants they were facing were wearing similar types of clothing themselves.

"What do you want?" Redbeard sneered at Dean while straightening up to tower over the oldest Winchester in an obvious attempt to look more intimidating. Although Redbeard was taller and bulkier than him, Dean didn't as much as move a muscle – just stared right back at the Viking-looking man with a confident look on his face.

"Rumor has it you boys are lacking team members." Dean answered, cutting straight to the chase. "My brother and I would like to offer our assistance."

"Yeah? What's in it to you?" Scrawny, banner-holding guy asked, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the constant buzzing from the stand of bystanders.

"This Battle of the Nations stuff is a hobby of ours." Dean said. "We've been following the sport for a while now and we've been searching for a team to join."

"And you think some random team are willing to let you join them in an important competition when you've got absolutely no tournament experience at all?" A dude whom Dean immediately nicknamed Scarface because of a long scar across his left eyebrow, asked – clearly not impressed by what he was hearing.

"We might not have any experience with tournaments, but we know the rules and we know how to fight." Dean said and his answer was received by a few mocking chuckles from the group of men.

"This sport is for _real _men, and it takes months after months of hard training to be able to understand what it takes to participate in this tournament." Scarface said. "You and your brother would be doing us all a favor if you just stayed on the right side of the fence."

Although Dean kept a wry smile on his face that most people would believe was a genuine one, Sam knew his older brother well enough to see that the smile was strained and that it would only be a matter of time before Dean lost his patience with these guys and started throwing punches.

"Look." Sam said, speaking up for the first time since approaching the group of contestants, and moving in between Dean and Scarface to avoid any scuffling between the two men. "We know that you won't be participating in the tournament tomorrow unless you've got a full team, and we're offering you our help here. If you don't wanna take it that's fine, but Steve would have wanted the team to carry on – with or without our help."

By the sound of their deceased teammate's name, the group of men all stirred and started murmuring with each other - uncertain as to how these two strangers in front of them could know of their late friend.

"What do you know about Steve?" Banner-guy asked, putting into words what everyone was thinking.

"He was a buddy of ours." Sam lied without as much as blinking an eye. "He was the one who introduced us to this sport in the first place and we originally came here to support him. Now that he's gone, we wanted to honor his memory by helping out his team."

"Yeah, but you guys obviously don't want our help, so good luck with the rest of the tournament." Dean added and didn't spare the Brotherhood team another look before he turned around and quickly patted Sam's chest. "Come on Sam, let's go."

Sam nodded his goodbye to the group of medieval-dressed men and followed behind his brother through the crowd of guests that were still watching the tournament. As Sam caught up with Dean, and the two of them had covered an appropriate distance from the team, Dean turned his head and shot Sam a wry smile.

"Dude. Wanna bet one of them will catch up with us within the next five minutes?" Dean asked and then grinned. "Nice idea bringing up the dead guy by the way."

"Yeah.." Sam agreed with reluctance and then sighed heavily, wanting to bury his hands in his pockets but then frowned with annoyance as his hands once again found no pockets in the tights he was wearing. Boy, was he missing his jeans!

"Only one problem with it though." Sam added, scolding himself for not thinking about this before he'd brought the team's dead friend into play.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Now we have no choice but to fight tomorrow." Sam said, darkly.

He sure as hell didn't miss being soulless, but sometimes it was a damn curse to have a conscious.

**_ SPN _ **

Dean had been right. It hadn't taken Banner-guy – who had introduced himself as Ken Woods, team leader of the _Brotherhood_ – very long to catch up with the Winchester brothers and take them up on their offer to join the team. Despite the fact that it hadn't been a consentaneous decision to let them be a part of the team, the majority had decided to give them a chance - and it was not like the brothers cared about who wanted them there, and who didn't, anyway.

Ken had led Dean and Sam to the battle camp where a small community of tents made it as habitations for the many medieval-dressed, _Battle of the Nations_ teams. According to Ken, the atmosphere inside the camp was usually full of excitement and laughter and good-natured banters between the different teams, but the recent deaths had put a considerable damper on it all. Where everyone previously had acted like one big family, the different teams were now sticking to themselves, not trusting anyone around them – which was also the reason why people had eyed the Winchesters warily as they had followed Ken tothe_ Brotherhood's_ campsite.

"This almost feels like that time we went undercover in crowbar hotel to help Deacon." Dean murmured to Sam. "Except this time I don't need to worry about you ending up as someone's bitch-boy."

"Something's definitely off here." Sam agreed, feeling rather uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes of the many people, they passed by - then realized what Dean had said and scowled at his older brother.

"Hey, _you _were the one who basically started a war against some of the prisoners who thenwanted me _dead _because of it." Sam said.

"You survived, didn't you?" Dean smirked. "And at least I didn't trade you for cigarettes, princess."

"Moron." Sam shot back with a roll of his eyes.

The _Brotherhood_'s campsite consisted of a circle of tents with a bonfire in the center of it where the remains of half a roasted hog still hung on the rotisserie above the red-hot firewood, and, in true medieval style, the men sitting by the fire were drinking mead from horns. The team gave the brothers a mixed welcome – some of them rather accommodating and polite, others dismissive and indifferent, while some appeared even hostile towards them.

"Don't mind them." Redbeard said while shaking Dean's hand and nodded towards a couple of men who were glaring at them. "Welcome to the team. I'm Tobias Mercer but people call me Red."

"I wonder why." Dean remarked and Red barked out a laugh before patting Dean's shoulder in a friendly manner.

"You lads sit down and make yourself at home." Red told them, making Sam startle a little in surprise as he showed a horn with mead into Sam's hands and led the younger Winchester to a stool by the bonfire.

Dean chuckled at the look on Sam's face, poured himself some mead and grimaced over the peculiar taste of it before joining his brother by the fire.

When nightfall came, and everyone receded to their tents to sleep for the night, the Winchester brothers waited for the whole battle camp to quiet down before they began snooping around in the area – flashlights in hands and guns tucked away in the back of their waistbands.

What had bothered both hunters the most about the case was that there didn't seem to be any specific connection between the victims - other than the fact that they'd all been a part of this _Battle of the Nations _tournament. Four people had died and all seemingly from a heart attack, although no one was able to explain how four completely healthy men could suddenly die of heart failure. Other than the deaths, the Renaissance festival had also been plagued by a series of bad luck, whereas most of them had happened during the battles. Some of the contestants had been severely injured, but where some people believed that these accidents were only to expect in a sport this tough, Sam believed otherwise. The youngest Winchester was convinced there was a connection between the mysterious deaths and the very unfortunate accidents that had happened in the battle arena - even though he hadn't come up with a proper theory for it yet.

"This camp is gonna take forever to investigate if we stick together." Dean whispered, eyes focused on the EMF-meter he was carrying which had remained silent so far. "We should split up, take each our side of the camp and meet back up by the team's campsite."

"Yeah." Sam agreed, nodded his head in silent understanding as Dean gestured his directions with his hands – the younger man turning left at the exact same time as Dean went right.

Sam let the beam of his flashlight guide his way as he walked between the many rows of tents, ready to excuse his nightly escapade as a search for a bathroom if anyone should see him and demand an answer as to why he was snooping around in the middle of the night. He didn't run into anyone though and, after having spent almost half an hour investigating row after row of tents with no result, Sam stopped up in front of a small wooden cottage that (according to the sign on the door) was for staff only.

The youngest Winchester peeked through the dark windows for a few moments, spotted a subdued light from somewhere inside and saw shadows dancing on the wall, but wasn't able to make out much else than that. Curiosity piqued, Sam moved to the door and slowly pulled down the knob, finding it locked, then turned his head from side to side to make sure he wasn't being watched, before he found his lock pick set and started working on the door. As soon as the door clicked unlocked, Sam carefully opened it up and heard the distant murmur of voices inside. Frowning when he couldn't make out what was said, the younger Winchester brother snuck inside the cottage, pulled out his gun but remained pressed up against the wall by the door, cautiously looking around the corner and holding his breath while trying to listen to the conversation. Whoever was speaking, the voices, Sam discovered, came from an adjoining room in the cottage from where a streak of light was visible underneath the door.

Sam snuck a bit closer until he was able to make out a little more of the conversation, and intercepted a few words here and there about _rituals _and _sacrifices_ and something about the _tournament_ the next day.

Deciding it was probably wiser to wait for backup before throwing himself into something that could end up getting him into trouble, Sam backed out of the cottage again and dug out his phone from his backpack to send off a text to Dean.

"_On to something. Meet me back at camp in five. /Sam._"

He texted the message, slipped his phone back into the backpack and slung the bag over his shoulder before heading in the direction he'd originally come from.

Sam had just rounded the corner of the cottage when something hard hit the back of his head, and the last thing he registered was pain before his knees buckled and everything went silent and black.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

**TBC..**


	2. Chapter 2

**BATTLE OF THE NATIONS**

**Author's note: **Sorry for the huge delay with the second part of this story. It is just so looong overdue. I originally planned to make this story a two-parter, but it's gonna consist of three chapters instead of two.

Thanks to anyone who has reviewed, followed and/or put this story on the list of favorites. I really appreciate it :)

-Elisa.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

It was the throbbing in the back of his head, Sam first registered when he came to. His head felt heavy as it lolled, chin to chest, and Sam groaned as he struggled to lift it up – the sound muffled by the piece of cloth that had been pulled over his head and tied around his neck. As he became a little more aware, Sam realized that his hands were tied together behind his back – his feet tied together as well - and that he was slumped against something solid. Straining against the binds, he slowly moved his fingers along the hard surface of the floor and wall behind him. Since the rough material felt like concrete, Sam figured he was most likely in a basement of some sort. The place was freezing cold, and it sure did smell like a basement if the mouldy odor was anything to go by.

Sam coughed and groaned again as he tried to lift up his heavy head. How had he ended up in this situation? And where was Dean? Had he been captured too? The questions remained unanswered while Sam struggled with the bindings - as well as trying to put together the thoughts in his aching head. As the memories of the Renaissance festival slowly returned to him, Sam continued to fight with the ropes - then froze as he heard footsteps coming closer. The sound of a door creaking open caught his attention and voices soon filled the room around him.

"He awake?" A male voice asked.

"Looks like it." Another male voice answered and a few seconds after, Sam's head was forcefully yanked up and the cloth ripped off.

Sam oomphed from the rough treatment. His eyes blinked rapidly in the dim light as he took in the sight of the two men in front of him. Both of them were wearing brown frocks with hoods pulled over their heads, which hid most of their faces from view. They almost resembled a pair of monks. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Dean would find it _oh-so-funny_ when he found out that a couple of monks at a Renaissance festival had captured his kid brother. Knowing Dean, Sam would probably never hear the end of it.

While the two men stared at him, Sam let his eyes scan the room around him and frowned. What he had first thought was a basement, turned out to be more of an old dungeon. The stonewalls were mildew and damp, and Sam even noticed a couple of rusty, iron shackles on the wall next to him. The only source of light in the room came from a couple of lit torches on the opposite wall of where Sam was sitting - the flames from them making shadows dance in the small room. Sam shook involuntarily as a shiver ran through his body. His rear was starting to go numb from the cold floor.

"So tell me;" One of the men said and crouched down in front of Sam, "what was the purpose of you snooping around? Were you spying on us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sam answered. "I was looking for a toilet."

"Don't lie to me!" The man growled and backhanded Sam – his head snapping back by the force of it and knocking against the wall behind him, making Sam see stars for a few seconds.

The man grasped Sam's chin harshly and forced him to look into his captor's eyes. Sam noticed that the man had a crooked nose and a big black mole next to his right eye, and Sam quickly imprinted these details in his mind. Dean would want to know the description of the men he, without a doubt, would beat the shit out of for hurting his little brother. That was if Sam even managed to make it back to Dean, at least.

"Which team are you on?" Mole-guy asked, shaking Sam by his chin. "And no lies this time!"

"Um…" Sam began, searching his scrambled mind. "The… um… The Brotherhood."

"We already sacrificed one member of the Brotherhood." The other man said and started rummaging through Sam's bag. "Wouldn't be very smart to kill off another one from that team, would it?"

"We can't just let him go either." Mole-guy said. "He knows too much already."

"So you're sacrificing people?" Sam asked. "To whom? And why?"

Mole-guy didn't answer him, but instead let go of Sam's chin. He stepped back a little, reached into his frock and pulled out a jack knife. He flipped it open, grabbed a hold of Sam's shirt with one hand and swiftly placed the knife by Sam's throat with the other one. Sam clenched his jaw and stayed still - knowing that even the slightest movement could tear the skin beneath the knife. A deep enough cut, and Sam would find himself in a whole new sort of trouble.

"You ask too many questions." Mole-guy said, narrowing his eyes as he studied Sam's face. "Who _are_ you?"

"Shit!" The other man suddenly exclaimed. "I don't think he's one of the contestants."

Mole-guy lowered the knife a bit, as he looked over at the other man, and he then paled before Sam's eyes. Now that the knife was no longer pressed against his neck, Sam was able to turn his head a little and see what mole-guy had reacted to; the second man was holding up Sam's gun and one of his fake FBI-badges.

"You a frigging _cop_?" Mole-guy shouted at Sam – then let go of Sam's shirt as if he'd been burned, and started pacing the room back and forth.

"What the fuck are we gonna do?" The other man asked, quickly wiped off the gun in his frock before dropping the gun and the badge back into Sam's bag. "The cops already know something fishy is going on here. If a Fed suddenly goes missing or shows up dead, we're done!"

"I know! Shut up and let me think!" Mole-guy spat.

While his two captors argued, Sam kept trying to free his hands from the bindings but it was an impossible task – his fingers having gone numb from the cold a long time ago. Instead, he started moving his hands up and down the stonewall behind him, hoping that the rough material could fray the ropes and eventually break them.

"Wait, I have an idea." Mole-guy said and shared his thoughts with his conspirator in a low murmur that Sam, no matter how much he strained his ears, couldn't hear.

Judging by the smirk and the nodded approval from the other captor, Sam was sure that, whatever the two men were planning to do with him, it was far from being in his favor. Sam's apprehension was confirmed as one of the two men left to soon return with a bottle of liquor and a small bag of pills in his hands.

"Roofies." The man grinned while shaking the bag of pills. "You won't be able to remember a thing after this!"

"Shut up, and hold him still." Mole-guy said, took the items from the other man and turned to look at Sam.

When the thug closed in on Sam to do what he'd been told, Sam pulled hard at his restrains and succeeded in breaking the frayed ropes. Before either of the two men could comprehend what was happening, Sam's fist collided with the closest man's gut – effectively knocking the man back and at the same time jumping to his feet. However, with Sam's feet tied together and the cold having done a number on his bodily functions, Sam was unsteady and Mole-guy too easily knocked him off balance. The two frock-wearing men overpowered him and Sam was soon face-down on the cold, hard ground.

"Big mistake!" One of the men growled, and Sam yelped in pain as he received a kick in the side of his body – followed by another one.

Coughing and gasping for breath, Sam barely registered being turned to his back and held down, before the bitter taste of liquor washed down his throat. Sam gurgled and gasped chokingly. He desperately tried to turn his head to the side to spit out the alcohol or at least manage to catch his breath, but rough hands held him in place. A couple of pills were shoved into Sam's mouth – followed by more liquor that made it impossible for Sam not to swallow them down – and Sam's struggles became gradually weaker, until he eventually went slack.

"That should do it." Sam heard a distant voice say before blackness claimed his conscious.

**_ SPN _**

Dean was worried. It had been hours since he'd received a text from Sam, telling him that his kid brother was on to something and to meet said brother back at the Brotherhood's camp. But Sam had never shown up, and he hadn't responded to any of the texts, calls or voicemails Dean had left him either. Dean had tried searching the entire contestants' camp for any traces of Sam, but the darkness made it hard for him to see much, and the area outside the camp was enormous. For all Dean knew, Sam could be anywhere out there.

Anxious that Sam had been a victim of whatever was causing people to show up dead, and even though risking blowing their cover, Dean had eventually woken up half of the Brotherhood campsite and asked for their help to find his missing brother. Most of them had been very unfriendly and told Dean to get lost, but a few of the team members had agreed to help Dean out – those being Ken Woods, Red, and a big, bald guy named Alan. The four men had divided into two groups to search the area outside the contestants' camp. Ken and Alan went together - Dean was with Red.

"Sam!" Dean called as the two men walked along the railings of the battle arena, scanning the sandy ground with their flashlights. "Sam!"

"I'm sure your brother is here somewhere." Red tried to assure Dean "He probably just got lost searching for the bathroom, or decided to take a walk around the moat. The old castle should be magnificent at nighttime."

"Sam usually doesn't wander off in the middle of the night to do frigging sightseeing." Dean snapped. "Especially not when people are showing up dead! He's smarter than that!"

He then sighed and washed a hand down his face. Dean always had a habit of lashing out on people when he was worried – especially when he worried about Sam.

"Look man…" Dean started, but Red cut him off.

"No it's fine, I get it." Red said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know Steve was your friend too and you just lost him, so I understand you're worried about your brother."

"Yeah." Dean said, hiding the fact that he had never actually met this Steve-guy in his life, and then started calling for Sam once again.

They'd been searching the area of the Renaissance Festival for half an hour and had just rounded a row of tents (that had been used as little shops during the day) when Ken's voice could be heard in the distance.

"Over here!" Ken shouted and Dean saw him waving a flashlight back and forth through the darkness. "We found him!"

Dean and Red hurried in the direction of the waving light, and Dean's hammering heart skipped a beat when his eyes caught sight of his little brother. Sam was slumped against an old stone fence - head lolling against his chest, and hair covering his face from view.

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed and ran towards his brother. "Is he hurt?"

"Hurt?" Alan huffed. "He's drunk as a skunk."

"_What_?! Sam? No way…" Dean said with disbelief before finally reaching Sam.

"Check for yourself." Alan said with a sullen look on his face, and kicked an empty bottle of whiskey that was lying on the ground next to Sam.

Eyeing the empty bottle with a frown, Dean crouched down in front of his brother. He gently lifted up Sam's head and let the beam of his flashlight slide across Sam's face to check for any damages. Sam was barely conscious. The strong smell of liquor was unmistakable and, judging from Sam's uncoordinated movements and the slurred nonsense, he was murmuring, it was obvious that Sam was wasted. Other than that, he looked okay.

"Christ, Sammy…" Dean mumbled and slid one of Sam's limp arms across his shoulders, ready to hoist him up. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Next time your brother goes on a bender, don't drag me into it." Alan said to Dean, non-too-kindly and trotted back towards the contestants' camp.

Dean glared angrily at the back of the retreating man – then looked at the other two men, silently daring them to say anything about Sam as well. Ken chose, very wisely, not to make any comments as he followed Alan back to camp. Red, on the other hand, grabbed Sam's free arm and dragged it across his shoulders.

"I'll help you get him back to your tent." Red said and Dean nodded gratefully, before the two of them hoisted Sam to his feet between them.

Sam let out a soft groan as he got vertical, and his head lolled on his chest for a few seconds before settling on Dean's shoulder.

"He's heavier than he looks." Red puffed as they started walking.

"Something's not right." Dean said darkly, ignoring Red's comment. "Sam doesn't do stuff like this. Hell, he rarely drinks more than a couple of beers. Someone did this to him."

"Look, I know he's your brother and all," Red said. "but it sounds very unlikely that someone would _force _him to drink a bottle of whiskey."

"I _know _my brother, okay?" Dean said. "And I'm telling ya, someone did this to him!"

"Whatever man." Red huffed. "But know this; if your brother's too wasted to compete tomorrow, the team's gonna be seriously pissed!"

Dean clenched his jaw and refrained from saying anything else. If Red wasn't currently helping him carry Sam back to their tent, Dean would be telling him exactly _where _he could stick the goddamn team for all that he cared! The only things that mattered to Dean was getting Sam back to their tent, check him over and find out what had happened to him – then rip the lungs out of whoever or _whatever _had dared to mess with Dean's little brother.

The silence was heavy between Dean and the big Viking-looking man the rest of their way back to the Brotherhood's campsite, and the moment Sam was inside the tent, Red left without another word spoken. Dean zipped up the tent – then turned on a camp lantern that lit it up and made it possible for him to check Sam more thoroughly.

"Let's take a look at you…" Dean mumbled, easing Sam out of the brown leather boots and the ridiculous coat he'd been wearing as a part of his undercover outfit.

Dean then folded up the coat to a makeshift pillow and gently lifted up Sam's head to place the coat underneath it. As he lowered Sam's head back down, Dean frowned when his fingers found a lump the size of a goose egg on the back of his brother's head. Squinting his eyes to take a closer look, Dean also discovered dried blood in Sam's hair. Dean clenched his jaw and reached inside his bag for a pocket light. He clicked it on and lifted one of Sam's eyelids to check his pupils for any signs of a concussion.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean soothed when Sam groaned and flinched away from the sharp light.

Dean sucked in a breath when he noticed that Sam's pupils were so dilated that they almost looked as black as the pair of a demon's. Concussion and/or alcohol could do a number on your eyes but this, Dean knew – this was different.

"Shit!" Dean cursed, anger boiling in his chest. "Someone frigging _drugged _you?"

Sam, of course, didn't answer. He was still out of it, and Dean suddenly feared what kind of drugs it was that had been forced into his brother and what the effects of it had done to Sam.

"Okay, that's it." Dean said and began to manhandle Sam to the opening of the tent.

He unzipped the tent opening, maneuvered Sam halfway outside, and took a deep breath before he pried Sam's mouth open and stuck two fingers down his brother's throat. Sam instantly jerked in Dean's hold, although sluggishly, and soon began to upchuck the contents of his stomach. Dean wrinkled his nose at the combination of sickness sprinkling his hand and the penetrating smell of it. He didn't let up though – not until the retching had turned into dry heaves. By then, Sam was gasping for breath and his cheeks were wet with tears.

"You're okay… You're okay, Sammy." Dean soothed and pulled his brother back to rest against his chest.

Dean gently wiped Sam's face with the back of his sleeve and stroked back Sam's sweaty hair. While doing that, he reached for the pocket light and let it light upon the pile of vomit on the ground with a frown. Dean's frown deepened when he caught sight of a half-dissolved white pill in the middle of the puddle of sickness. He knew what type of drug that was – had endured the effects of it himself once and had hardly been able to call Sam for help back then.

"Roofies." Dean said and barely refrained from growling as anger once again made his blood boil.

No wonder Sam was just about conscious. Roofies were bad enough, but combined with alcohol? That could be fatal!

After getting his kid brother back inside the tent, Dean made Sam drink some water and then proceeded to check Sam over for possible injuries. Aside from a small bruise on Sam's left cheekbone, that would probably have been invisible to anyone else but him, Dean discovered marks on both of Sam's wrists – indicating that Sam had been tied up at one point. Just the thought of it made Dean more than a little furious!

If Sam had been able to walk and the Impala hadn't been so far away, Dean would have brought Sam back to their motel room to take care of him more properly and then return to the Renaissance Festival when his brother was back on his feet. However, that seemed to be impossible for now, so Dean decided to let Sam sleep it off where they were. Hopefully, Sam would be much more clear-headed in the morning – maybe even be able to tell Dean a little bit about what had happened to him. If not, Dean would still find a way to track down whoever thought messing with his little brother was a good idea – and beat the living shit out of them!

That was a promise Dean intended to keep.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**BATTLE OF THE NATIONS**

**Author's note: **Thank you for being so patient with me, guys. I know it's been forever since I started this one and I'm sorry it took me so long to finish it. I just don't get much writing done these days. Anyways, this is the last chapter of the story – I hope you'll enjoy it! :)

-Elisa.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

Morning came, and Sam was still out for the count. Although looking pale and rather battered, he was breathing peacefully, so Dean let Sam sleep and went to fetch himself some much-needed coffee and some breakfast from one of the many medieval shops. He knew that Sam probably wouldn't have much of an appetite, but Dean still decided to bring back some food for his brother – just in case Sam wanted a little bit to eat after all.

The Renaissance Festival was already buzzing with people; blacksmiths hammering away in their smithies, troubadours playing their lutes and hitting on the maidens, elderly women embroidering on canvases, men breathing fire, knights doing ring riding on horsebacks, and even a couple of monks updating the scoreboard of the knights tournament. The contestants of the _Battle of the Nations _camp were also up and running. The first battle of the tournament were set to begin around noon that day, so everybody was doing their own thing to prepare for the upcoming competition.

As Dean returned to the habitat of the _Brotherhood_ team, he quickly realized that rumors about Sam's nightly escapades had already made their way around the campsite. Dean received quite a few judgmental looks from the members of the team, and the tension in the camp was high. Ignoring the looks from the other men, Dean headed straight for the tent he shared with Sam, put down the paper bag with breakfast, and spent a few seconds making sure that Sam was still alright and breathing. Dean then decided to go back outside and deal with the cranky members of the team. Sam would already have enough on his plate when he woke up – he didn't need to be judged by, what Dean thought, was a bunch of yahoos in Halloween costumes, on top of everything else. Approaching the gathered members of the _Brotherhood_ team with determination, Dean stared down everyone he made eye contact with – silently telling them to cut the bullshit or get a beat-down.

"What?" Dean challenged, prepared to kick the crap out of anyone who dared to talk shit about Sam.

The bigger part of the men had the decency to keep quiet and look away, but Scarface, unsurprisingly, took on the challenge in a heartbeat.

"How's your brother?" Scarface asked in a scornful way. "Hungover? Or ready to start the day with another bottle of liquor?"

"You watch your mouth…" Dean threatened in a low and dangerous voice, fists clenched hard at both sides of his body. "What happened to Sam is none of your goddamn business."

"Oh yeah?" Scarface challenged and got into Dean's face. "We're competing in a really important battle today, and your brother decided to crap all over this team by getting wasted last night!"

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch!" Dean spat. "Sam didn't decide to do squat to your team! Something happened to him last night, and when I find out who's behind it, I'm gonna tear them apart!"

Scarface snorted and turned around to look at some of his teammates.

"So now it's someone else's fault that his brother got pissed last night." Scarface said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and then added; "Not our fault that the kid can't control his alcoholism."

Dean let out a humorless snort. Then - two seconds later - he had spun the man around, grabbed a hold of his collar and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. Sometimes, it even surprised Dean _himself_ how easily provoked he became when someone bad-mouthed Sam.

"You know nothing about my brother." Dean snarled, feeling pleased when he spotted real fear in Scarface's eyes from the rough treatment. The man might have been bulky but Dean Winchester was a force to be reckoned with – especially when furious.

"Okay, enough!" The team leader, Ken, shouted, and a few of _the Brotherhood _members separated Dean and Scarface from each other. "We're supposed to compete together today, guys! Not fight against _each other_!"

"That psycho just attacked me!" Scarface exclaimed, pointing a finger at Dean.

"Really..?" Dean said in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous comment.

"We all heard what you said, Paul." Red cut in with a sigh. "He didn't get in your face for nothing."

"But that doesn't mean we tolerate violence outside the battle arena." Ken added while eyeing Dean pointedly. "You can both save that for the competition today."

"You know what? I don't owe you guys anything." Dean said with a shake of his head, about done with the situation and these wannabe LARPers. "Someone _attacked_ my brother last night, and I don't care if you believe it or not, but that's the frigging truth! The only reason we got here was to do this team a favor, and if Sam isn't on top of his game, you're gonna have to look for someone else to fill in the spots 'cause we're _out_ then!"

"Whoa, hold on…" Ken began, but Dean didn't stay to listen to the responses from the group of men.

His eyes had caught sight of movement from the tent he shared with Sam, so Dean headed over to check up on his kid brother and to find out how much Sam remembered of the previous night.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, unzipped the tent and found a groggy little brother looking back at him; looking all but five years old with his hair sticking out in all directions and eyes blinking slowly. "How are you feeling?"

"I…" Sam began in a rusty voice, then cleared his throat and smacked his lips together a couple of times. "Wha-… Man… Did we get drunk last night or something?"

"_We_ didn't do squat, Sam – _you _did." Dean said, zipped up the tent door behind him, and handed Sam a bottle of water that his brother accepted with shaky hands. "You disappeared on me last night, and when I finally found you, you were basically passed out drunk… and had been roofied."

"W-what?" Sam stuttered with wide eyes. "I was…? But… Who? How?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Dean sighed. "What do you remember?"

"Umm.." Sam began, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't.. I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dean asked, trying his best to keep the worry out of his voice. "Well, let me try to enlighten your scrambled brain then, Bukowski."

Dean then let Sam in on all the details about the hunt – about going undercover at the Renaissance Festival, how they'd promised the _Brotherhood _team to fight for them in the group battle to be able to get full access to the battle camp, how they'd split up to search the camp only for Sam to go missing. Sam had nodded in recognition to some of the stuff Dean had told him, but his memory apparently became fuzzy when Dean reached the part of their search through the battle camp the previous night.

"Before you disappeared you texted me, saying you were on to something." Dean said.

"I wish I could tell you what I'd found out." Sam sighed, rubbing at his temples – a guaranteed telltale of a pounding headache. "But I don't remember… God, this feels like the wall all over again."

"This time you can scratch all you want though." Dean remarked and received a bitch-face in return for his comment. "Well, maybe something will come back to you once we return to the motel and you can…"

"Wait, back to the motel? Dean, we're not going anywhere." Sam cut in.

"Excuse me?" Dean said, sending his brother an incredulous look. "Sam, someone attacked you last night, hurt you and left you hammered and drugged. If you think for a second that I'm gonna let you continue this hunt – let alone compete in the battle today – you must be insane! I'm gonna be surprised if you can even _stand_ without falling over!"

"People's lives are at stake here…" Sam said.

"_Your _life is at stake here." Dean exclaimed, not missing the way Sam winced from the loud words.

"Dean, I'm fine." Sam said in a soft voice. "And it's not exactly monster MO to roofie someone. Besides, if the situation had been reversed, _you _wouldn't lay low either – not when people are in danger."

"Fine!" Dean gave in, throwing up his hands in defeat. "But this whole _Battle of the Nations_ crap is done! You're not battling."

Sam didn't respond to that. He just laid back down on his sleeping bag and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh – as if the words exchanged between them had been physically exhausting for him. They probably had. Hell, it was impressive to Dean that Sam could even form coherent sentences after the state he'd been in the previous night. Dean didn't like how pale the kid still looked, and he could barely detain himself from throwing Sam over his shoulder - fireman style - carry him to the car and drive him to the nearest hospital.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked instead, figuring that Sam probably wouldn't appreciate being manhandled. "You want some Tylenol or something?"

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam mumbled into his makeshift pillow. "Let's just figure out how to solve this case."

**_ SPN _ **

Sam was _not _fine. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers; his head was aching and his stomach was upset – which was why he'd politely declined breakfast when Dean had offered it. Sam felt dizzy and woozy, and he was having a hard time making his limbs cooperate with his sluggish brain. He could hardly focus on anything else than what should have been the simple task of continuing to breathe - which Sam knew didn't go by his hovering big brother unnoticed.

The biggest issue for Sam was the lack of memory though. There was a big chunk missing and, from what he knew about Roofies, it was most likely a big chunk of memory he'd never be able to get back. Judging by the bruises on his body, the lump on the back of his head and the soreness of his ribs whenever he moved, Sam had obviously been tied up and beaten. Dean had told him that his captor had furthermore forced liquor and pills into him. But why? And who had done this? Had it got anything to do with the case they were working - or had Sam just been at the wrong place, at the wrong time?

The questions made Sam's aching head spin, and he had to stop walking and fight against the nausea that washed over him. The sun was burning hot, and drops of sweat were dripping off Sam's nose, as he was bent over, hands on knees, and swallowing down rising bile. A calloused hand squeezed the back of his neck. Sam closed his eyes shortly before peering up at his concerned older brother.

"You sure you wanna go through with this?" Dean asked. "'Cause we can leave right now, hole up somewhere and let someone else finish this one. We've got nothing to prove."

"I can do it." Sam panted, ignoring the odd looks some of the _Brotherhood _team members sent him as they passed by. "This armor's just so heavy.. and hot."

"I know." Dean said, and adjusted the medieval, metal helmet he'd placed underneath his armpit.

It had taken a fair deal of energy and arguing back and forth with his brother, before Dean had finally given in and agreed to let Sam be a part of the battle competition after all – although reluctantly. No matter how much Sam had tried to remember what had happened to him the night before, the memories just wouldn't return to him. However, his gut kept telling him that it'd got something to do with the _Battle of the Nations _competition – and the best way to be close to the contest, was to actually be in it. Dean had only agreed to this arrangement as long as Sam remained outside the battle arena as a substitute fighter for the team instead of being actively involved in the battle. That way, Dean could keep an eye on things from inside the arena while Sam could do the same from outside the battle arena. Sam was perfectly fine with this. Just the mere thought of doing anything strenuous almost brought Sam to his knees anyway, and Ken Woods, the team leader, seemed more than happy to keep Sam benched – as long as the _Brotherhood _had a full team after all, then it probably didn't matter much to him who competed and who didn't.

A bottle of water appeared in front of Sam, and he gratefully accepted it from his brother with a shaky hand and greedily drank of it. Sam then took a couple of deep breaths before straightening back up, and gave Dean a short nod to indicate that he was ready to move on.

Both Winchesters were wearing their medieval outfits, but this time it was in combination with protecting armor. Since the brothers didn't exactly carry this kind of stuff among their usual gear in the trunk of the Impala, Dean and Sam had had to borrow the armor from some of the _Brotherhood _team members. Not everyone had extra equipment (or were willing to hand it over to the brothers) so they only had the very basic stuff. Both hunters had metal armor on their arms and legs, and strapped over their chests and backs was a chainmail. To complete it all, Dean and Sam also had helmets, shields and swords.

The battle arena was buzzing with people – both inside and outside the arena. A big crowd of bystanders was seated on the wooden grandstands and was cheering for the battling knights, when the _Brotherhood _team, accompanied by the Winchester brothers, arrived. The day had not gotten any cooler and, even though Sam had just emptied an entire bottle of water, his mouth felt as dry as the sand underneath his boots. While Ken gave the team an encouraging speech that Sam couldn't even begin to focus on, the youngest Winchester leaned back against the fence encircling the battle arena. He still felt dizzy, and the fence was what provided him with the support he needed to remain upright.

Sam wiped off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and squinted at the baking sun. He wasn't even wearing his helmet, and he'd put down the shield and sword – yet he was still sweating profusely. In this heat and with the state he was currently in, Sam felt more than a little grateful for the fact that he wasn't the one about to compete in the battle arena. Dean was going to fight though. Sam didn't know whether it was his frazzled mind or the heat that got to him but, either way, his big brother sure did look like a real knight in that moment - with his shining armor and stoic posture. However, Dean wasn't paying attention to whatever Ken was saying. His attention was on Sam, and Sam could see the concern in his brother's eyes. Dean raised an eyebrow and, from a whole lifetime of knowing Dean, Sam knew that Dean was silently telling him that they could still back out of this. Sam shook his head, turning down the offer. Undeniably, he still felt like shit, but they couldn't back down now – not when innocent lives were on stake.

The current tournament battle came to an end, and the presenter announced that the next teams competing in the arena were the _Blue Vikings _against the _Brotherhood. _

"Keep your eyes open and stay out of trouble." Dean told Sam and flashed him a smile before putting on his helmet.

"Yeah, right back at you." Sam snorted, relieved that hewasn't the one wearing a closed armor helmet in this unforgiving heat.

"I _am _William Wallace!" Dean announced, closed the vizor of his helmet and raised his sword.

Sam shook his head. At least Dean didn't do the entire speech from _Braveheart_ this time around.

Seven members of the _Brotherhood _team – including Dean – took position in the middle of the sandy ground of the battle arena, while seven people from the _Blue Vikings _team did the same thing. The remaining two members of the _Brotherhood _team were seated on a bench next to Ken, the team leader. Sam sat down beside them, no longer having the energy to remain standing.

The match began and the knights started battling against each other. The shouts and cheers from the bystanders were loud, and Sam struggled to focus on his task as his head pounded in perfect harmony with the beat of a drum someone had _kindly_ brought to the event.

The bystanders were a mixed group of people, containing everything from regular tourists and families with kids, to people dressed up in true renaissance styled clothes. How did you even begin to single out suspicious behavior in a place like this? Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease his headache. As his body continued to be plagued by the effects of the alcohol and drugs, Sam began to regret having convinced Dean of staying. A cool motel room and a pillow were to be preferred right now.

A loud hiss from the crowd, and a collective shout of curses from the members of the_ Brotherhood _teamseated next to him, brought Sam's attention back to the fight happening inside the battle arena. Someone from the team had gotten hurt, and the youngest Winchester was relieved when his eyes sought out Dean and found his big brother unharmed. The team member Alan, whom Sam knew had helped Dean in his search for him the previous night, was not as lucky. A hit from a sword had apparently split his helmet in half and knocked the guy out cold – only barely managed to avoid cleaving his head into two pieces. A pair of first-aiders were already tending the fallen _Brotherhood _member, and while they worked on the unconscious man, Dean took advantage of the downtime to walk to the side of the fence to get some water. Sam noticed that Dean's hair was sweaty and his cheeks flushed as the oldest brother took off his armor helmet and looked at Sam.

"Another accident." Dean sighed, nodding towards the injured man who was being loaded on a field gurney. "Did you see anything odd?"

"No. Nothing." Sam said with a shake of his head. "You?"

"No. And this helmet blocks out most of my vision anyway." Dean said. He took in Sam's pale and sweaty face for a few seconds, and added; "You look like shit."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam answered with a snort. "How's it like competing in an actual knight's tournament?"

"It's as awesome as it sounds." Dean said, eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled, and Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. He was pretty sure that Dean could now check off another item on his bucket list.

A sudden wave of nausea wiped off Sam's smile, and Dean's expression immediately turned serious.

"You okay? Sam, we can still…" Dean began, but was then cut off by Ken who shooed him back into the battle arena as Alan was carried out of there and the fight was about to continue.

There were now only two substitute fighters left on the bench – Sam and a guy named Billy – since, naturally, Alan had had to be replaced. The match against the _Blue Vikings_ soon ended though, and the _Brotherhood_ team came out of that one victorious. A couple of monks updated the scoreboard and, while looking at the two men, an unnerving feeling crept up on Sam. A lost memory tingled on the edge of his mind, but Sam couldn't quite grasp it or make sense of it before it was lost again. Whatever it was though, Sam knew it had somehow been triggered by the sight of the monks.

"Okay, moving on to the next one." The team leader, Ken, said – effectively interrupting Sam's trail of thoughts. "What happened to Alan was unfortunate, but he's going to be okay and we need to focus on winning this thing."´

"Anything?" Dean asked Sam in a muttered voice, ignoring Ken's speech.

"No.." Sam answered, a bit hesitantly which Dean wasn't late to pick up on.

"What?" He asked.

"It's just… I have this weird feeling," Sam said, nodding towards the monks by the scoreboard, "about those two."

"The monks? What about them?" Dean asked, discreetly eyeing the men Sam had pointed out to him.

"I don't know, really." Sam sighed. "There's just something about them that creeps me out."

"No wonder. The cloaks are one thing, but the pledge of celibacy is just wrong, man." Dean said, then shuddered as if disgusted. "Let me guess; you'd have been even more creeped out if they'd been dressed as clowns, huh?"

"Are you done?" Sam asked, bitch-face in place, and not even a hint of amusement to be spotted in his voice.

"Just getting started." Dean grinned.

"My brother, the comedian." Sam remarked with sarcasm. "Anyways, I'm just saying that we should keep an eye on them."

"Agreed. Now drink some of this." Dean said, pushing his bottle of water into Sam's hands. "You look like you could be fainting any second, princess."

**_ SPN _ **

The semifinals of the tournament came and went by as the first one had done; _The_ _Brotherhood _team was triumphant – but another team member had bit the dust. This time, a twisted knee was the reason why Sam became the only substitute left on the bench. Dean had done his best to keep a watchful eye on the scoreboard monks while also competing in the Battle of the Nations match. He'd noticed that the two men had left their post just before the _Brotherhood _had been forced to replace another team member, but they'd returned soon after the fighting continued. Dean had been a hunter for too many years to believe in coincidences, so for the monks to disappear just before another round of "bad luck" hit the team was just a little too suspicious. Especially since Sam had had a bad feeling about those men, and whenever Sam Winchester had a feeling about something, you would be an idiot to ignore it.

Speaking of Sam… As Dean braced himself for the _Brotherhood_'s last group battle of the _Battle of the Nations _tournament, he made sure to check that Sam was still on his feet and not in a dire need of a trip to the ER. Dean would have preferred to have his brother resting up somewhere safe, but his stubborn kid brother had wanted to finish the hunt, so this would have to do for now. He was relieved that Sam at least wasn't competing.

Dean's relief was short-lived though. They were about eight minutes into the fight when the situation changed. Scarface got his shoulder dislocated as he connected with the side of the fence, and before Dean even realized what was going on, Scarface was out and Sam had replaced him inside the battle arena. The youngest Winchester had his helmet on, and his sword and a shield in hand, but Dean could tell from the way Sam moved that his little brother barely had the energy to hold them up.

"What the hell is he doing..?" Dean muttered to himself, angrily stamping his way towards Sam to have a word with his reckless brother.

Just then, Dean barely avoided taking a hit by a sword to his helmet. He had been so distracted by Sam that he hadn't noticed the competition had continued yet again. Dean's temper flared, and his competitor experienced first-hand what it was like to piss off Dean Winchester.

For a guy who could barely breathe properly, Dean had to admit that Sam was doing remarkably well in the game. Sam was a little slower and less graceful in his movements than usual, but he was handling his sword well. Dean was actually starting to believe that they would get out of this one okay, when a cry from Sam suddenly pierced through all other noises. The bystanders gasped in unison, and Dean's blood ran cold as he spotted Sam, on his knees, with a sword pierced through his shoulder. The knight, Sam had been competing against, was still holding on to the handle of the sword – frozen in place as if _he_ couldn't believe what had happened either. Ignoring everything else, Dean dropped his sword and ripped off his helmet as he ran towards his hurt brother. When he got there, Dean placed a solid punch through the dumbfounded attackers open helmet vizor on instinct, which made the man let go of the handle of the sword immediately to cover his bleeding nose. Dean, on the other hand, dropped to his knees in front of Sam – just in time to catch his brother as Sam fell forward.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, heart pounding rapidly as memories from Cold Oak crept into his mind by the similarities of their positions.

"Can't… breathe…" Sam gasped, desperately clawing at his closed helmet.

Dean brushed away Sam's fingers, and quickly removed Sam's helmet to reveal the pale face underneath it. Sam gulped in big mouthfuls of the warm air, hair mattered to his forehead and eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Stay conscious for me." Dean ordered, as he lowered Sam onto his uninjured side on the ground, making sure that the sword didn't do more damage than it'd already done.

"Trying." Sam answered between clenched teeth, moaning as the slight movements most likely caused agony to flare through his hurt shoulder.

"Shit.." Dean cursed as he examined the nasty wound.

Blood was freely gushing from it, painting the sand a rusty color underneath his hurt brother. The sword had somehow pierced through Sam's armor, although that was supposed to be impossible. What the hell was going on with this tournament? How did all these so-called _accidents_ happen?

"Dean, take it out." Sam hissed.

"Don't be stupid. You'll bleed to death if I do." Dean said, and instead applied pressure on the wound, as much as it was possible to do because of the sword, to reduce the blood flow – wincing as the gesture made Sam hiss and writhe on the ground.

The first-aiders showed up with a field gurney and gently pushed Dean aside to work on Sam, but the younger brother closed his fingers around Dean's wrist, halting Dean from further movements. Sam then spoke so low that Dean had to lean down to hear what he said, and the oldest Winchester almost recoiled when he heard what Sam had to say.

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean said with disbelief, and continued when Sam shook his head. "Sam, I'm not leaving you to finish this case on my own. You're hurt."

"And it's being taken care of." Sam said, crying out as the sword was removed and cotton pads were pushed down on his injured shoulder.

Dean hissed in sympathy – which seemed to be the case with the many bystanders as well – and watched with concern as Sam's face turned an even whiter shade of pale.

"It's the monks, Dean, I swear it is. There were two of them. One of them… one of them has a big mole on his face." Sam then said, making Dean frown.

"What are you talking about?" Dean wanted to know, ignoring the first-aider who wanted him to step back so that Sam could be lifted onto the field gurney.

"Last night, me disappearing. That's all I remember." Sam explained – just before the first-aiders succeeded in peeling his fingers off Dean's wrist.

Sam was then loaded onto the field gurney and carried out of the battle arena, while Dean tried to decide whether to follow him, or to go find those monks Sam had been talking about. Either way, Dean was done fighting in the tournament. Even if he'd wanted to stay, punching and breaking the nose of one of the competitors had disqualified Dean from the game.

Decision made, Dean ignored the voice in his head screaming of him to stay with Sam, and went in the opposite direction of where Sam had been carried out - towards the scoreboard where the monks had been. If Sam was right, these monks were the ones who'd hurt and drugged the younger Winchester the previous night. Dean didn't know whether or not the monks had got anything to do with the case they were working on, but no one got away with hurting his little brother; not demons, not angels, and definitely not a couple of men in brown frocks!

Just like the other times someone had gotten hurt inside the battle arena, the monks were nowhere to be found by the scoreboard. However, Dean was not a hunter for nothing and he easily picked up a trail. Judging by the clear path on the sandy ground, it seemed like the monks had been walking back and forth between two points; the scoreboard and the old castle.

Dean got rid of the heavy armor – discarding the metal from his arms and legs, and removing the chainmail at last. He needed to be able to move around as easily and soundlessly as possible if he wanted to sneak up on the bad guys unnoticed. As Dean got to the old castle, moved over the drawbridge and disappeared behind the great stonewalls, he reached into his boot and drew out his spare gun. He passed by a row of lit torches and then, before he could decide in which direction to go, mumbled voices caught his attention nearby. Dean raised his gun as he followed the noise - locating it to come from some sort of lattice near the ground of one of the walls. Crouching down by it, Dean carefully peeked through the bars. He was looking down at what appeared to be the crypt of the castle, and his eyes soon caught sight of the two monks. They were standing in front of an altar with lit candles and some other items that Dean knew exactly what was used for. These monks were summoning something, and Dean bet it was somehow connected to the case he and Sam were working on.

The oldest Winchester snooped around until he found a set of stairs leading downwards, and then headed into the darkness below. More lit torches met him on his way, as he got closer and closer to the monks' hideout. When Dean passed by some old dungeons, he stopped up as his eyes caught sight of a familiar bag inside.

"Son of a bitch." Dean muttered, anger flaring as he grabbed the bag and found Sam's stuff still inside it.

There was no doubt that this was where Sam had been held captive when he'd disappeared the previous night. The floor even contained some pieces of rope that could very likely have been used to tie Sam up with. Dean clenched his jaw, swung the bag over his shoulder, and headed in direction of the monks again. In the end of the narrow corridor, a closed door led into what Dean assumed was the altar room. He put down Sam's bag by the side of the door, went a few steps backwards and then kicked in the old door.

"What the hell!" One of the men exclaimed, both of the monks jumping back and raising their arms in the air by the sight of Dean and his gun.

"I suggest you two step away from the altar, boys." Dean said, keeping his gun pointed at the frock-wearing men. "We need to have a little talk."

"Who are you?" The other man asked.

Dean ignored the question, and narrowed his eyes as he spotted a big mole next to the man's right eye. Sam had mentioned a mole, and that just further proved that these men were the ones who'd captured and hurt the youngest Winchester.

As Dean scanned the rest of the room with his eyes, he saw a blackboard where the names of all the teams of the _Battle of the Nations_ tournament were scribbled down – plus names of team members whom Dean knew had suffered from the mysterious heart attacks. He also spotted a table with a pile of bank notes, and Dean wasn't late to figure out what these men's endgame had been.

"So this is what it's all about, huh?" Dean said, nodding towards the blackboard. "You have found a way to earn money on the tournament by doing a little match fixing? That's a dangerous game to play – especially when using dark magic and making human sacrifices."

"It's not dark magic. We summoned a God." The man with the mole said, a smug smile on his face. "You a cop like that other guy we found snooping around?"

"That 'other guy' happens to be my brother." Dean snarled. "And you're gonna regret what you did to him."

"Yeah? You and what army?" The other monk, the shorter one of them, asked.

"Television called – they want their clichés back." Dean told the shorter monk. "Alright, enough of this crap. You two, out!"

Dean used his gun to gesticulate towards the door, and the two monks reluctantly started walking. However, before Dean knew what was happening, one of the men kicked into the dirt on the ground with his boot – making the dirt twirl up and right into Dean's eyes. The oldest Winchester brother cried out and wiped at his eyes, but not fast enough to avoid being attacked by the men in front of him. Dean kicked one of the men away from him, while the other one attempted to choke him from behind with an arm around his neck. Dean pushed back until the man connected with the stonewall behind him, and he then succeeded in tearing the arm off his neck, swung the man around and punched him square in the face. Two more punches, and the shorter monk was out cold.

"Game over." The other monk, the one with the mole, said from behind him, and Dean spun around to find himself face to face with his own gun. "Say; bye, bye!"

The monk smirked and started pulling the trigger. A shot rang out in the small room, echoing between the walls, but Dean felt no pain. He looked astonished as the smirk was wiped off the monk's face, moments before the guy fell into a lifeless heap on the ground. Dean turned his head and saw his brother in the doorway to the room, gun still raised in front of him.

"Bye, bye." Sam said to the dead monk, before looking up and meeting Dean's eyes. "You looked like you needed a little help."

"Nonsense. I had everything under control." Dean claimed, tied up the unconscious monk, and then quickly closed the distance to his brother, as Sam started sagging against the wall.

Sam had his injured shoulder bandaged and secured in a sling, but the younger Winchester looked anything but ready to be moving around on his own. Dean grabbed Sam's bag and once again swung it over his shoulder, before slipping an arm around his brother's waist to support him.

"So how did the tournament end, Lancelot?" Dean asked as he guided Sam back towards the stairs.

"The _Brotherhood_ won." Sam announced. "Even with me out of the game and you being disqualified."

"Good for them." Dean said, and actually meant it. "You ready for some R&amp;R back at the motel?"

"What about the monks? And the altar?" Sam asked.

"I'll call Mackey, let him do some clean-up." Dean said.

"Alright." Sam sighed, relief in his voice. "Motel it is then."

As they left the old castle and headed towards the car, Dean looked back at the renaissance festival with a wry smile.

"You know, it wasn't all bad though – getting to compete in the knights' tournament and all." Dean said, and Sam snorted.

"Maybe you should join a team, be a knight of the Round Table or something." Sam said, then added; "Maybe even ride a horse."

"Dude, the only thing I'll be riding is my Baby." Dean responded. "But you can get to be the damsel in distress as usual, Samantha."

"Don't forget who saved your sorry ass back in the castle." Sam said.

"Told you; I had everything under control back there, Sammy." Dean stated.

"Whatever you say, bro." Sam laughed. "Whatever you say."

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

**THE END.**


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